


No Legacy Is So Rich

by allonsy_gabriel



Series: Another 51 [26]
Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Attempt at Humor, Awkward Flirting, Aziraphale is Bad at Feelings (Good Omens), Crowley is Bad at Feelings (Good Omens), Fluff and Crack, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Ineffable Idiots (Good Omens), M/M, Mutual Pining, Satire, Sauntering Vaguely Grammarish, This Is STUPID, don't drink and drive, ive seen that tag a few times and i Love it, they're at equal and opposite ends of the moron spectrum, they're so stupid oh my God
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-17
Updated: 2019-10-17
Packaged: 2020-12-21 00:00:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 681
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21065372
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allonsy_gabriel/pseuds/allonsy_gabriel
Summary: There are whispers that echo through history, seeping into every breath we take. There are stories told and retold, shaped and fashioned as soon as there is the language to accommodate them. There are tales that are indispensable, so deeply embedded in our collective psyche that their influence leaks into every other aspect of human life, that are so well known that they will linger, as they have lingered, throughout all of time.Legends are born and bred from the accounts of these figures, these beacons of Good and Evil, these symbols of the ever-present duality of Man.These drunk, ridiculous idiots who were currently fawning over each other in the middle of one of the nicest restaurants in London.





	No Legacy Is So Rich

**Author's Note:**

> is this trash?  
yeah  
is it funny?  
uh probably not  
did i write in an hour while also illegally downloading an entire Hozier album?  
baby you know it

There are whispers that echo through history, seeping into every breath we take. There are stories told and retold, shaped and fashioned as soon as there is the language to accommodate them. There are tales that are indispensable, so deeply embedded in our collective psyche that their influence leaks into every other aspect of human life, that are so well known that they will linger, as they have lingered, throughout all of time.

Light and darkness.

Black and white.

A snake in a garden.

An angel on a wall.

Legends are born and bred from the accounts of these figures, these beacons of Good and Evil, these symbols of the ever-present duality of Man.

These drunk, ridiculous idiots who were currently fawning over each other in the middle of one of the nicest restaurants in London.

“ _ Crowley _ ,” Aziraphale said for what had to be the fifth time in a row, “Crowley, dear—” ( _ six _ , six times) “—you  _ must  _ try this, it’s—it’s—well, it’s  _ delightful _ , whatever it is.”

The demon didn’t reply, instead simply staring at the angel from across the table with an utterly lovestruck expression, his eyeglasses slipping down his nose.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale repeated (again, for the _seventh time_), “Crowley, are you even listening to me?”

(_Eight._)

Crowley blinked twice and shook his head like a dog shaking off water. “Erm. Yes. Yes, ‘course, angel. You were just talking about the... The stuff. Y’know.”

“ _ Y’know _ ?”

“Yeah.”

The angel narrowed his eyes at the demon, but, as a testament to his own inebriated state and also the Olympic-level gymnastics routine his own heart did whenever he was around Crowley, Aziraphale didn’t press the issue.

“I do rather think,” he said in a way that somehow managed to be prim even though the words were muffled and a little slurred with alcohol, “we ought to be headed home, soon.”

(The server who had been lingering around their table since they had arrived—he checked his watch— _ five and a half hours ago _ almost leapt for joy as he heard this.)

“Oh?” Crowley said, leaning back in his chair, reaching his arms over his head in an over-exaggerated attempt at nonchalance. “‘Suppose you’ll be headed back to the bookshop, then?”

“Yes, yes, I do believe so,” Aziraphale said. He fiddled with the golden ring on his pinkie for a moment, looking almost shy, almost sad.

“Need a lift?”

“In your current state?” the angel asked, although he brightened immediately.

“Nah, I’d sober up first. Wouldn’t—wouldn’t do to get discorportated now, when we’ve got—when they all want us dead and all that.”

Aziraphale nodded a little glumly, and the demon threw an arm over the angel’s shoulder in a gesture that was trying much too hard to be casual. “‘S alright, angel,” he said. “We’ve—our side, remember?”

The words were quiet and, all at once, much more sober.

The angel placed his own hand on top of Crowley’s with such deliberation and painstakingly obvious intent that even the most obtuse of primary-school-age children would be able to recognise it as  _ very awkward flirting _ . “Of course,” Aziraphale replied. “Our side. My dear, how on earth could I ever possibly forget?

The demon turned a shade of red hitherto only seen on cartoon pictures of apples (which was, in a way, quite fitting).

“I—pfft— _ ngk _ —I—alright, then,” he stammered, sounding a bit like an exceptionally mediocre beatboxer.

Honestly, the sheer  _ lack of subtlety _ possessed by these two beings was…

Astonishing.

They left soon after, still holding hands, still varying shades of red, still stumbling over each other, although no longer from alcohol.

If one looked closely, they might've even noticed the demon Crowley place a kiss upon the angel Aziraphale's cheek.

There are countless legends of the never-ending battle between the righteous and the corrupt, the noble and the dishonest, the tempter and the protector, the heathen and the saint.

There are even more stories of love, against all odds, despite all circumstances, across all boundaries.

If one looks close enough, they’ll find they all come from the same original source.

**Author's Note:**

> this challenge is making me crazy but haHA we're halfway through--the end shines ever brighter, now, a light we are drawn to, like trees bending towards the sun
> 
> tell me what you think!


End file.
